


another lie moves over

by happyhouse (fleurdelilitu)



Series: softly they fall, without whimper or roar [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Drabble, F/F, Gen, Grimmauld Place, Harry is Desi, Lesbian Ginny Weasley, M/M, New Years, Pining, Revelations, Romance, Stream of Consciousness, but only for like 2 seconds because Ginny doesn’t have time for that, everything is gay and nothing hurts, harry is pining toooo, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdelilitu/pseuds/happyhouse
Summary: It’s New Years Eve 2009 when she realises that only Luna calls her Ginevra.
Relationships: Ginny Weasley/Luna Lovegood
Series: softly they fall, without whimper or roar [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789405
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	another lie moves over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [butiwaswildonce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butiwaswildonce/gifts).



It’s New Years Eve 2009 when she realises that only Luna calls her Ginevra.

She’s standing at the kitchen table in Number 12 Grimmauld Place, pouring herself a glass of firewhiskey, when the thought strikes seemingly out of nowhere. She is aware of the implications and takes a moment to sit with it.

That morning she had stormed into Harry’s room and thrown him his pants. Tonight, she’d informed him under no uncertain terms, he was expected to host the best New Years party of his Merlin forsaken life and finally get round to kissing that horrible excuse for a man he had been pining after for the past Morgana-knows-how-many excruciating years.

Harry had blinked back at her slowly, stood up without ceremony and made his way to the bathroom, pants in hand. Why she still wasted her time on him was beyond her. The best friend a man just shy of thirty could ask for, and the only thanks she got was an eyeful of bollocks she hadn’t had a vested interest in for the better part of a decade.

Nonetheless, she’d helped him clean up and deck out the place, vetoed half a dozen of his terrible outfit choices and sent him out to pick up dinner all in good time. Just past sundown, and people wouldn’t be showing up until at least 8pm so they had a good few hours to wind down and get relaxed. And, she had mused while eyeing up the bottle of Ogden’s Harry had pulled out before heading off, time enough to get a gentle buzz going before the guests rolled in.

She’s not sure what brought Luna to mind.

Perhaps it was the golden hue and sharp, warm scent of the alcohol as it flowed from bottle to glass, she muses as she takes a sip. She certainly has many memories of drinking with Luna, often around bonfires under the full moon. Luna has often said that the celestial return was a cause for celebration, gazing intently upwards with lips curved into a secretive smile.

Or it could have been the song playing from Harry’s kitchen wireless, a breathy voice that is not dissimilar to Luna’s own, in timbre at least, crooning sadly of tall women and wild white horses. Luna, she thinks as she walks into the living room slowly, would like the association. Pale and wild and free, like the mane of Luna’s hair as Luna dances and twirls alone in the small overgrown garden of Grimmauld Place on a grey Saturday morning in the middle of November.

Though the sadness of the song would probably be found wanting.

Really Ginevra, she can hear in the back of her mind, I do hope I do not evoke such sorrows in you as those felt by this poor, poor woman.

Quite the opposite really. Luna evokes comfort and contentment, and belonging. And this fact alone is striking, almost more so than the idea that somehow her full name has become Luna’s alone. She takes another sip and feels the liquid roll along her tongue, warming her throat. Perhaps she herself has become Luna’s alone.

Ah, there it is. It wasn’t the firewhiskey, or the song, or the hours spent preparing ostensibly for Harry to capture the heart of a similarly pale eyed, pale haired beauty. It was the fact that Luna is always, unfailingly, on her mind. 

The alcohol spreads warm through her veins and she recalls Harry’s dark cheeks flushing as she teased him about his single minded infatuation mere hours ago. She’s been foolish and arrogant, caught up in the comforts of a single life and indulging the memories of the many lovers of her younger, globe-trotting days. It’s been a long time since she took a woman to bed. A longer time still since she shared her life with another. In fact, the only person other than herself that feels comfortable settling into her room, comfortable curling up on her comforter like they belong there, is her often elusive friend. Messy haired, barefoot dancing, intrepid journeying Luna. She feels giddy and shaken. How long now? How long has it been only Luna?

Ginevra feels a cold sharp stab of panic and takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes, knocks back the last of her firewhiskey, and turns around. Setting her glass on the mantelpiece, Ginevra allows herself one last moment of uncertainty before taking a pinch of Floo powder and tossing it unceremoniously into the living room fire.

The flames turn green, and Ginevra walks through.

“Luna?”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Portishead’s “The Rip.” Happy Holidays~


End file.
